Clothes Poney

Stockholm, The First Visit

2012-02-10T12:21:00.000-05:00

Last weekend, I made my first visit to Stockholm. I got a little thrill upon exiting the plane when it occurred to me that I was not only in an entirely new country--but in an entirely new part of the world!

But then, it was just about midnight, my luggage (with my hat, gloves, and scarf inside) was lost, and there was a 20-minute wait for the train to the city. And so I was ultimately less than thrilled.

But once I arrived at B's temporary apartment, had some wine, and sunk into the couch with some crap English programs on the teevee, the troubles of the day were forgotten. Oh, and then I woke up the next morning to this view:

Incredible, no? It looks like Santa's workshop!

I will go on about Stockholm in more depth later, but really I just want to show you photos of our new apartment. (How baller are we right now? We happen to have an apartment in Paris AND one in Stockholm! Of course, the one in Stockholm is entirely unfurnished... And we will likely not have two apartments after July. But still, please let us have our baller moment.)

Our new place is in Östermalm, which you can see more images of here.

Nice, right?

Anyway, our new apartment's a real charmer. It had me at the lobby:

And then you walk through a courtyard to get to our apartment. (It's quite common in Stockholm for people to have candles going outside their store or restaurant [and inside, too]. Our first night at the apartment, someone had lit a candle under a glass cylinder and left it burning all night. It was so lovely in the snow.)

Anyway, here's a view from the courtyard:

Even the stairway up to our place has a nice feeling to it:

And then we were greeted by this! What a welcoming touch:

You enter into a charming round foyer, which has the kitchen and the bathroom off of it. Looking straight through you see the living room and the bedroom.

Here is the kitchen, so bright and pretty with its hardwood floors:

Here is the living room. Did I mention that both the living room and the bedroom have a closet? It's unheard of here in Paris!

And we have pretty moulding in the bedroom:

Here's a shot of the bedroom, with its closet on display. I know something like a closet does not seem too exciting, but I assure you it is!

I think I am most in love with the views of the other pretty pretty buildings and their courtyards. I think Cochino will also be a fan. Maybe she will make a window kitty friend across the way?

Goose Egged

2012-02-09T13:54:00.000-05:00

I'm pretty taken with the eggs over here. I will pop a fried or poached egg on pasta or salad and call it dinner many nights. Or if I'm feeling fancy on a workday morning, I'll fry up an egg for breakfast instead of having granola. So when I saw a giant basket of "Oeufs des oies" at my favorite fromagerie, I was game.

I knew I did the right thing when she put it an adorable bag. But bag or not, I was pretty stoked (bringing it back, thanks) to cook my goose egg for a big weekend breakfast. For one. But whatever.

Until I palmed it, that is. Holy crap, is that a big egg!

Check it compared to a lowly chicken egg. I pretty much gulped and wondered if I could make it through this experience (similar to when I was trying to cut a bone-in rabbit loin [which was approximately proportionate to that of my cat, who was sitting nearby] and suddenly dropped the knife and begged B to take over).

But then I decided that living single (er, with a boyfriend in Sweden) means cracking your own eggs. (That sounds like a terrible euphemism.) And eating the eggs you buy. So I slammed the shell with the force to break 10 chicken eggs and got on with it.

The yolk just about fills the bottom of a pyrex measuring bowl.

The yolk is so clear it's almost iridescent blue. One goose egg fills the whole 12" skillet, yo.

Apres flip. I think I cooked it for 8-10 minutes or so.

And then the payoff. A goose egg sandwich with some soft sheep's milk cheese and a piece of traditional bread. I ended up ditching the bread so as to be able to eat all of the egg. One goose egg is about the equivalent of 4 chicken eggs. (Me = pig.)

So how did it taste? Well, geese are herbivores (whereas chickens eat meat), so it was milder in a sense. But it also tasted fresher and, well, greener. It was also much fluffier. Basically, it was the best chicken egg I have ever eaten.

And I got another one for B and I to eat this weekend! The experiment begins again...

Stuff on Walls #341

2012-01-29T05:55:00.000-05:00

It's been a while.

Shanghai Wrap-Up

2012-01-22T04:12:00.000-05:00

Bringing it on home to Paris.

Shanghai style fried (top, duh) and soup-dumplings with pork and crab roe.

Fabric ladies at a supplier dinner. (Where we ate crocodile!)

The worst bludgeoning of French, ever.

Hangover relief. Pocari Sweat is a must, and the cool cucumber chips didn't hurt either.

It's encouraged to get yourself some new red undies for good luck in the new year. Especially if you are a dragon and this is your year.

And look who finally made an appearance: the pink puppy! Pink puppy don't mess around in the cold weather, apparently. But there she was, quickly overseeing her mom count the day's cash. My trip was not for naught, after all!

And the Aeroports de Paris were feeling festive for CNY upon my return. Love the dragon on the tower!

Korean Cuties

2012-01-22T03:39:00.000-05:00

What's underneath that froth? Why, it's a sweet potato latte. And when you get to the bottom, there are chewy sweet potato bits to enjoy. It is a dream.

I was absolutely taken with a coffee shop called Mug for Rabbit. They had the cutest cupcakes (note the snowmen-on-baked-goods theme running through Seoul), and their signature latte has a bunny on it. I was S-O-L-D. And upstairs they have a wine bar called Cork for Turtle.

We found this guy hanging out at a great vintage store called 9 Owls. Check out their website for loads of sweet swag. I bought an incredible handknit horse sweater that... came from the US. Leave it to me to go all the way to Korea just to buy something from my home country. Blarg. I will post pics as soon as I get it back from the cleaners, as I think you'll admit it was worth it.

Seoul Food

2012-01-21T13:31:00.001-05:00

Food photo extravaganza! I'll shut up and let you look.

Korean bbq at Tadak.

Beautiful steaming egg souffle (ggae rahn jeem?).

Spicy carrot/lettuce salad and some Cass beer.

The best part.

The most delicious gimbap in a blanket of fried egg. It was like breakfast sushi.

What'll you have?

Bibimbop before and after. I want to eat this again. Right now.

A snowman doughnut at the Incheon airport.

Me, doing my best Zoidberg with the most delicious piece of squid.

There is a pretty big hot dog culture in So-Kore. They have hot dogs cooked in a "breading" of chopped french fries. Sublime. Top that, America!

These are my new favorite thing: glutinous rice balls. The taste, the texture, all of it. These are perfection. I had a purple potato and a sweet potato ball. I also tried the mugwort ball and approved.

Seoul Love

2012-01-21T12:49:00.000-05:00

Last week something extraordinary happened.

I fell in love.

With a city. OK, so it's ANOTHER city to add to my list of loves. (I am already and forever smitten with Philly, Paris, and SF.)

Seoul, you took my scrill... and my heart.

I really needed the jaunt to Seoul. It seems like I've spent the better (er, worst) part of the last 2 months in Shanghai. Last trip, there was the stomach virus and now this trip a sinus infection. By last week, I was pretty freaking sick of being in China and feeling terrible. But when we got to Seoul, I felt like a new woman. (Well, I still felt like sh*t, but I didn't care.) I was in SEOUL!

We were picked up in a giant, macked out BMW sedan (businessmen have such a sense of pride about their cars in Korea) with all sorts of buttons and lights for Flora and I to use in the backseat.* Then we got to the hotel, which was modern and clean and had an actual minibar and a thorough room service menu (compared to the clean but c-r-a-p-p-y hotel where I stay in Shanghai). But on top of it all, the bathroom had a fancy potty! I tell you, life without a heated toilet now seems positively barbaric. I mean, how does the rest of the world manage?

* Side note: I was careful not to push anything too "foreign" after my previous Seoul mishap of being trapped in a bathroom stall with a projectile-douching toilet spraying all over the front of me. And then I had to go into a presentation and try to keep my cardigan constantly over my wet front. So take it from me, the what-does-this-button-do? thrill is not worth it. Stick to flushing and get out!

For a big city, Seoul is clean. Most any casual restaurant on any random street is clean and safe to eat at. You just may not be able to find someone to take your order in English... but if you don't mind trusting in your sense of adventure and have a good pointin' finger, you will get some food. And you will likely not be disappointed. Even the street food is clean... and good! See below.

Seoul is a very shoes-off city. It was nice to shuffle around in slippers at some of the suppliers' showrooms. It was like looking at fabrics in my bedroom! And even our hotel had pretty wooden and glass "shoe lockers" on each floor where you could store your shoes and put on a comfy pair of slippers so as not to muss your room.

There was also a radio-karaoke thing going on. I mean, there was lots of live singing on the radio, and not just from professionals. There seemed to be some competition-type shows where they would play a song and then random people would call in and sing the same song (in its entirety) over the background music. It was interesting.

It can be a little tricky to get around as English is not so prevalent, but with a good concierge who doesn't mind writing your addresses in Korean, you're fine.

Essentially, I think Korea offers some of the best elements of Japanese culture (the shopping, the food culture, the cleanliness) without the downsides (crazy crowds, kinky/repressed sexual underbelly).

Other random stuff that's cool about Seoul: Korean basketball on two channels on the telly, it was the World Design Capitol in 2010 (as voted by a fancy Industrial Design org), it has mobile tv and uses its own spritely CDMA cellular frequency so most outside phones will not work, K-pop is bananas, there's a big indie design emphasis with young designers making handcrafted jewelry and accessories, the AFN plays all the US television programs, kimchi all the time, they have cat cafes!

View from my hotel.

"BETTER TASTED, MORE LOVED"

Hello Simpson bar.

Fancy shoe locker on my floor of the hotel.

Let the cavalcade of street food begin...

So we were just standing there, admiring the street yums and trying to take a decision, when a sweet lady turned and offered us her last 4 snails. Of course, we protested ("Don't take free street food from a stranger" is a good rule of travel)... but the more the sweet Japanese lady gesticulated, we understood that she was generally full and wanted us to enjoy the snails. So we shrugged and dug in. At which point the nice tourist lady asked to take a (peace-signed) picture with us. I will pose for a picture in return for free snails any day.

These are fishcakes on a stick.

Meat treats.

These are what I think to be ho ddeok, which are flour shells filled with cinnamon and sugar. The guy fills the dough with the cinnamon mixture and forms in into balls (at the top of the griddle). Then he presses them down for maximum fry-ability. It was yum-yum-yum! Crsipy with a gooey sweet inside. But tricky to eat... one of them gooed hot cinnamon all over Flora's sleeve.

And one time, this old lady jumped into our taxi and insisted on being driven 3 blocks up the road. She would not take no for an answer. It was pretty awesome.

Shanghai Mish-Mash

2012-01-15T03:37:00.002-05:00

Here is a hodge-podge of Shanghai things that happened before I headed to Korea.

This is a filter-free shot of the low-lying smog on my walk into the office last week. Blech. I find myself thinking more and more of wearing one of those masks.

I am fairly obsessed with what I like to call "scooter mitts". Most all of the scooters are customized with what look like oven mitts or ski gloves to keep hands warm while zipping around. Also of note is that the top scooter appears to be held together with some sort of tape.

Here's me being a sneaky sneak shooter to illustrate one of my airport pet peaves--unnecessary use of a cart. This is not a problem in the US, as most airports charge you to use a cart. So most people find a way to manage without one. But in Europe and Asia, where the carts are free, everybody and his brother's got a cart or three.

Europeans deal pretty well with the carts, so the epicenter of bad cart behavior seems to be in Asia. (I mean all of Asia. Years ago in Delhi, an older woman in a sari rammed me repeatedly with a cart while trying to get a better spot at the luggage carousel. This got me all spread out flying-squirrel-style so I could stand as much ground as I could. I am still bent out of shape about it. I rarely get through an airport anymore without using an elbow or two.)

I think my biggest peeve about the carts is that people take one when they don't really need one. And then they throw some half-filled shoulder bag or purse on it and proceed to nip at the ankles and bump on the bums of those of us without a cart who are trying to share the same space. Back off, people!

So back to the picture above. This women brought her stupid cart (full of one lightweight tote) into the ladies' room in the Pudong airport and bumped her way around until she found a sink she could gargle at. The whole thing wadded me up enough to take a picture. And the GARGLING?! Yuck! (Also, I hope the girl on the right got her white shirt all untucked before carrying on with her travel plans. Dontcha hate that?)

Here's another shot from my lovely day transiting from Shanghai to Seoul. I know I've described before how things can get a little nutty on a domestic China airline, but a new thing I've noticed is the standing on seats to access the overhead storage. I snapped this older gentleman showing you how it's done.

The other thing I must describe about China domestic air travel is what happens when the plane lands. Now, I know that once the plane is down, most anyone is ready to unfasten his or her seatbelt and get the hell off. But never have I seen this carried out with such frenzy and urgency as on China Eastern. Most of us can manage to keep our seatbelts fastened until the plane has arrived at the jetway. But when a China Eastern flight touches down, the first thing you hear is the metallic clank of 50+ seatbelts being undone. And often, you will see someone springing for the overhead soon after. (Like, while there's a fairly good clip of taxi-ing still happening.) This person is often told to take his seat, but usually he is not alone in his urgenturgentURGENT need to attain his things. I just don't understand the rush and the race and all of that. You are just going to have to stand there waiting (and holding your things--ain't no carts here, buddy!) until they open the doors and we are allowed to ooze off. So why does it matter if you are the first to get your things down? You're not going anywhere.

The disembarking of a Chinese flight vs. a French flight is a show of opposites. Unless, of course, it's an Air France flight headed to Shanghai, when the two distinct camps are made to travel together. And then things get interesting.

Left to entertain myself during the electronics-free periods during takeoff and landing, I picked up the China Eastern in-flight magazine (or Ugly Watches Quarterly, as I've started calling it). The articles looked alright (there was once about Hamburng I was vaguely interested in), but everything was in Chinese save for the titles and a choice teaser in English. Great. So I found myself flipping through, looking at the pictures and noticing how many ads there were for really expensive and really grotesque watches. It was a study in the often mutual exclusivity of money and taste.

I didn't even realize how many "luxury" watch brands there were. And most all of them are "European" and blinged out in one way or another. I'll be honest, I like the rose gold on this one, but the face is confused and gaudy. I think it looks like a cyclops, but then I notice it has two "eyeball" thingies. I wonder if the designer had eyeballs at all.

But this one took the cake. I hope someone throws it off a Caribbean Cruiselines ship to find it's watery death, as is what I like to imagine is happening in this ad. Where to start? The flowers, the bling, the hands... even the maker's logo is offensive to me, with its stupid confused W. (What kind of W has three valleys? Or is it Delwitt? Or Delviitt? Or Dewiitt?) But the worst for me is that the numbers are spelled out in French. Get over yourself, Delwitt (if that is your name).

The Pot is HOT!

2012-01-14T07:33:00.000-05:00

As you know, I am an adventurous eater and have tried lots of things. And considering how many times I've been to China, I am almost embarassed to tell you that I had not tried hot pot until last week! (I should add however, that I once had an incredible nabe at Mari and Simon's and that's basically a Japanese hot pot, so I'm not a total brute.)

I am sure most of you have had hot pot before, but for those of you who haven't, I'll explain. You choose a flavored broth (or two), and then you choose your ingredients, and then you cook said ingredients in aforementioned broth. You also combine elements like peanut sauce and soy sauce and spicy chilis and garlic to make your own customized dipping sauce. My mom keeps relating to it as a Chinese "fondue." Yeah, sorta. But much spicier (if you're into that) and with zero cheese.

Turns out there is a swell (and clean! I am big on "clean" since my last bout Shanghai tummy trouble.) hot pot place on the same block as my hotel. I was lucky to have Flora and her boyfriend Gary to show me the ropes. We had to wait for a table, but they brought us sweet corn crunchers, sunflower seeds, tomatoes, and some soy drinks--all in after-school-snack-style plasticware. There was also a girl doing nails in the same waiting area. While I admired her initiative, I really don't like nails being did anywhere near a restaurant. But once we went upstairs for the hot potting, all was forgotten.

You choose all of your ingredients from an extensive list. Of note here are the "Duck Guts." Way not to class it up, Mr. Interpreter. We got shrimp and pork balls, shrimp paste balls, beef balls, some other kind of shrimp ball filled with pork (what can't they ball over here?), beef, lamb, scallops, and all sorts of veggies including lotus root, black fungus, and my favorite the Chinese yam. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

We chose a non-spicy mushroom broth and a spicy chili broth. You can tell which is which.

Some of our spread. The oranges did not go in, FYI.

They give you a bag for your cellphone as it can get messy. I like to live dangrously, however, and left my cellphone en plein air. Yee-haw!

My customized dippin' sauce, pre-mixing.

I think this was about when I threw in the towel. You can see that it gets a smidge messy.

Two girls full of hot pot!

Guess Where I Am!

2012-01-10T09:26:00.000-05:00

Again.
Shanghai!
My home away from home...

Earlier tonight, room service called me back to tell me that my stir fry could not be served with white rice because they were "out." But it's China, no? I downgrade the food service at this hotel more for running out of steamed rice than I do for giving me a stomach virus last month.

But you know the best part? They offered to serve the stir fry with bread instead. I wanted to say something snotty like, "If I wanted BREAD, I would have stayed in Paris!" But bread or not, I would have stayed in Paris and, well, there's no need to get into it with the Chinese lackey made to give news of a rice shortage.

So here are some (time-consumingly) uploaded photos that you no doubt have already seen if you are Instagram or FB friends. Sorry about the cross-posting and even sorrier about the repeat captioning.

Also, the girl who sits next to me at our office here basically spends all day with one headphone in watching Ally McBeal episodes on her laptop and not even trying to look busy. She is a nice girl, a French girl, doing an internship in Shanghai, apparently gaining hours toward her Crappy American TV Dramedies major. I just want someone to know that I know because the rest of the office acts like this is what they're paying her for. God forbid, she should pop out an earbud and file something!

Need to charge your Ally McBeal-era cellphone? This guy's gotcha covered!

"Hey, Fire, you lookin' at me?"

Who likes wolfberry wine? This guy!

Honestly, they had me at lobster. So when they threw some cheese on top, I was powerless. And, yes, they are good. Stay tuned for when I finally try the "Cool Cucumber" flavored Pringles.

The blingin'est iPhone case ever, hand-rhinestoned by someone on my fabric team. This thing is seriously blowing my game of inconspicuous photo-taking. It was a gift...

On Turbulence

2012-01-07T08:24:00.001-05:00

I used to love flying. I grew up with a father rife with airline miles (he had earned a lifetime membership to the Ambassadors Club… until American Airlines came along and spat on a lifetime of loyalty to TWA), who generously put them toward his wife and child flying (first-class, of course) all over the world on holiday. So of course I loved flying. I grew up thinking that all planes had spiral stairs up to an open bar where everyone gathered to play charades or that plane food was always special-order and involved delicious hamburgers. I don't remember being scared of flying or turbulence. In fact, I vaguely remember being emboldened by turbulence, of it making me feel more confident or powerful because it did NOT scare me.

But this all changed. Gradually, of course. By the time I was a young adult, the first class flights were a thing of the past. But my confidence in the skies was still there. I was so old-hat at flying by then that I was begging turbulence to bring it on. Whatever, I wasn't scared. Then I started flying more… and on more international flights… and in business class. And the thrill of fancy-flying returned: the warm cloths, the warm nuts, the chilled champagne. The entertainment options, the flat seats, the complimentary toiletries. (I could go on.) I was back where I belonged. And let's face it, things are pretty smooth on those big jets. (Especially after the champagne.)

I can't really put my finger on when fear crept into my flying, but I'm pretty sure it was in my early 30s, when I was living in Columbus or Philly and had to take those baby-sized commuter jets home. There is an inherent lack of confidence in a plane that doesn't have status enough to afford a jetway connected directly to the gate. A plane on which you can spread your arms and almost touch both walls. A plane that has but one attendant, who doesn't even have to recite the safety regulations but merely pushes a button to inform. A plane whose props are started by an industry nube, a guy who dreams of someday piloting one of those 747s to Europe or Asia or somewhere other than Cincinnati. A plane that only has one class--economy, and that's an over-statement.

It was the shakes, the bumps, and the jumps of these little planes that ruined air travel for me. I am well aware that this fear may also have something to do with my increasing age and with my growing up and coming to terms with reality and my own sense of mortality. (Yeah, I said mortality. This is about to get deep.)

And so it started happening: the racing pulse, the gripping of the armrest, the jittery legs, the need for wine just to deal. But those are just the physical manifestations. What goes on in my head is much worse. If there's a movie playing, it is suddenly both the most and least important thing happening. Most important because it is the only thing happening that is not turbulence. I am depending on every word coming out of Brad Pitt's mouth, needing them to continue to keep my mind somewhere else… but I am not really hearing any of it.

Turbulence makes you take stock of your life. It all starts making sense… why you were so sad to leave your friends in Madrid, why the highway was closed on the way to the airport, why the plane was delayed, why your dad just wrote you a thoughtful email about things other than saving money or church. You were warned, you should have known that it would all end here, just like this.

I won't tell you that I am dealing better with turbulence the more it happens (because you should have seen my legs shaking on my last flight when they had to put off the dinner service for an hour because it was so bumpy), but I have come to terms with it.

I mean this in two ways. First, because I have experienced so many crappy flights… and I am here in my hotel room telling you about them, I am living proof that--though frightening--turbulence is really more irksome than fatal. (You can do some fact-checking on the interwebs to see how rare it is for a plane to go down because of turbulence. It claims something like one a decade.)

I have also become better at putting my thoughts in a more peaceful place and have stopped playing this morbid "bargaining" game, wherein I make promises to whoever is listening (God, is that you?) to do things like say "I love you" more, to tell everyone I know how amazing they are (ohmygod, what if they don't know how much I value them in my life???), to not be as judgmental or cranky about the little things (oh, what I wouldn't give to be put in a situation that would make me cranky… so long as it 's on the ground!), even to go to church (gasp!). And then I think of all of the places I would rather be than on a jumping plane--at the dentist getting a filling… no a root canal! Having surgery! Breaking a bone! Getting yelled at by my boss! Having a terrible stomach flu! Because all of these things take place on the surface of the earth, you see. And though they might not be entirely within my control, they are moreso than being stuck on bumpy ride in the air.

Essentially, why turbulence is so scary is because of the sense of entrapment it brings. There is simply nowhere to go. There is no driving the other direction to avoid the bus, there is no ducking down to avoid the swinging bat, there is no going to the basement to avoid the thunderstorm. There is no leaving your seat. It's just you and a bunch of other strangers trusting that those folks in the cockpit are going to get you through it. There's something awful about feeling stuck like that, like there is nothing you could possibly do but ride out your fate.

But wait, I was telling you how I had come to terms with turbulence.

It's true. Though my knees were wobbling when they reined in the dinner carts and Brad Pitt's performance in Moneyball took on a new level of brilliance, I couldn't help thinking that life is… pretty awesome. That I've got good parents, and amazing friends, and a super-duper boyfriend. I've eaten well and lived well and travelled well. If it were to end, hey at least I wouldn't have had to get old and (more) wrinkly and (more) curmudgeonly. If this is what is meant to be, well surprise, it's going to be and there's nothing I can do about it. And that's when I noticed they were wheeling the dinner carts back out and that champagne could be had and maybe I'll watch The Artist next and I hope they put me in a good room in Shanghai and geez could you quit with your seatback, sir...

It's important to appreciate what we have and who we have and where we've been. And it all counts the same on the ground.

Madridrigal

2012-01-06T09:57:00.001-05:00

So, its true. I have seen it with my own eyes now. Spanish style is the pits. The goofy strapped and buckled leather or '90s trainer-style shoes, the ill-conceived washes and grotesque detailing on the denim, the early aughts-style Chico's embroidery on everything, the wigs (I don't care if you're being "festive", a wig worn in the daytime should be on a cancer patient), and the "artfully" colored jacquard fabrics (again, Chico's, I know where you go for inspiration).

But wait, all of this is meant to announce that I went to Madrid last weekend! My first time in Spain!

B and I went to meet up with dear friends from SF, who had secured a well-decorated and -situated apartment there. We spent Friday night at the epicurean mercado, then Saturday-day hit another mercado for a bubbly brunch, then it was the eve of the new year so we ate our grapes and went dancing (after some requisite tequila shots), then we had a proper sweatpanted new year's day that culminated in some late-night bacon cheeseburgers and a New Girl marathon. The next day involved a pop into the Reina Sofia (long story, but it really was a life-changing visit...), some empanadas, and a flight back.

Here are some selected photos.

Churros and dipping/drinking chocolate. Try to beat that.

You can't have the above without some plastic-backed naps from Pampi's. We snagged a box and they served us well the whole weekend.

Adorable menu graphics from our Saturday lunch. The pig is king in Spain.

View from above. Mercado = heaven.

Even the cheese is pig-shaped in Spain!

Seafood party!

I will tell you that the nadir of the trip was when I was scolded at the grocery store for trying to take a photo of the largest piece of pulpo I had ever seen. I wish I could have gotten ths pic because this guy was really something.

For the life of me, I can't find the name of these tiny, stringy fishes. But I'm pretty sure I'd love them.

Bunny art!

Remember when I said that the pig was king? Well maybe I meant octopus... That one I didn't get a photo of at the grocery store could have taken down a pig, that's for sure.

Mellow kitchen times.

The scene of the New Girl marathon.

Lights everywhere. And, look! A race! Definitely the opposite of how I would choose to spend my NYE.

Line 'em up.

Grapes and some H G-Ligh before heading out in the new year.

New year's day dessert treats. (Note the centrally placed Pampi's.)

The recovery cava was well on at this point....

Eats

2012-01-06T08:47:00.001-05:00

Oh rather, "Stuff I Made Well Before I Was Back on a Plane to China."

Look, it's my first molten chocolate cake. It wasn't as oozy in the middle as I had hoped, but B still declared it to be restaurant-grade. The recipe is not intimidating at all, and you can make it ahead and pop it in for a banging finish to your dinner. (Just upon typing a "banging finish to your dinner", I pictured J-Lo popping out of a cake. Now THAT would out-bang a molten choclate cake any day. But I'm leaving it.)

We had boudin blanc, caramelized apples and onions, and mashed potatoes for Christmas Day. Well, guess who was lying in bed, jet-lagged out of her mind, at 5:30 am the next morning thinking of all of the ways to reinvent the leftovers.

(Side note: I swear, I would have been amazing during the Depression because I have some freak obsession with using things on hand and generally maximizing ingredients. Sometimes this means that I'll buy, like, 7 new ingredients just to make something awesome out of a lonely carrot that didn't make it into the previous day's pot. Which is totally not Depression-style at all. But still, no carrot is left behind! I can feel good about that!)

So there I was, restive and debating between some sort of fried potato-cake or pierogis. Oh course, the pierogi takes it every time. So this has all just been a long way of showing you the homemade pierogis filled with mashed potatoes and boudin blanc and fried with caramelized apples and onions that I made. Boiled and then fried, hey hey they were good. Thanks for your time.

By the way, there's something satisfying about stuffing a pierogi, ravioli, samosa, or what-have-you. Go on, get your counter all flour-y. Your soul will thank you.

I did not eat one of these, but look how adorable an individually sized buche de noel is!

I did have a (good-sized) galette des rois individuelle on Wednesday, however. I was going to share it with my deskmate, but she was in a really long meeting and I was weak and, damn, if the whole thing wasn't gone before she returned. Of note is that there is no "prize" in an indiviudally sized galette des roi. Unless I ate it.... hmmm.... Also, sorry Virginie!

And these are some carnitas that B made that were tender-yet-crispy in the best sort of way. We were having a Parisian friend over for dinner, so there was no way I was making anything remotely French. (I am no fool! She is the same friend I witnessed sink into the "smelling-the-poo-poo" face while I was describing Belgian cuisine. We immediately started laughing about this, and she recovered her cute normal face right away. She's just Parisian through and through, that's all. And also, she asked!) We served B's salsa, cabbage slaw, carnitas and corn tortillas (for which we had to make a special run to the left side), and ice cream sandwiches. I think it was a (non-French) success!

These are the deelish tollhouse cookies B and I fatted ourselves on over the holidays. Stuffed with some Haagen-Dazs, they also make a mean ice cream sandwich, fyi.

This Cheese Can Kill You

2011-12-27T11:30:00.002-05:00

Look at that golden cheese. It's nearly glowing, no?

It's warm and melty and begging to be spread on some bread.

I can assure you that it's even better than it looks. It's nutty and earthy and... smacks of... whatsthatnow... oh yes, it's danger. Do you know what danger tastes like? Well, I tell you it's delicious.

If you are in the United States, however, you will never taste this particular danger. (Though we both know that you've got dangers of your own.)

Let me tell you the fateful story of our golden cheese here. France is a big country, and its cuisine varies greatly by region so that the regions bordering other countries (say, Spain, Germany, Italy or Switzerland) share the food culture of the neighboring country. This cheese is from the Jura region of France, which borders Switerland.

And so I realize that I haven't even told you the name of our cheese yet. That, friends, is part of the controversy. It is called Mont d'Or or Vacherin du Haut Doubs in France, while it's called Vacherin Mont d'Or in Switzerland. So now we've got that out of the way, back to our story...

Things started out fine for our little cheese. It was being happily produced in both France and Switzerland using raw (unpasteurized) cow's milk until the early '80s. Because raw milk soft cheeses are more succeptible to the rare (but deadly) bacteria Listeria, the Swiss decided to start pasteurizing their version of the cheese. This was in 1983. And wouldn't you know it that the same year, there was a outbreak of Listeria, killing over 30 people. (In the US, 1983 also brought an outbreak of McNuggets, but unfortunately this threat remains.)

Of course it was the French cheese! Long Swiss fingers pointed across the border at the unsafe French cheese! They had pasturized their cheese just in time to show the French who was smarter! They had beat them at their own cheesy game!

Except that it was actually the SWISS cheese that had caused the deaths. Yes, the pasteurized nancy-cheese was actually the one killing people.

But by the time they figured out whose cheese was the cause, both cheeses were pretty much villainized. I mean, would you want to take your chances? Though there has not been a Listeria outbreak since 1987, the US still has both the Swiss and the French cheeses on the no-fly list. A bastardization is available in the US (it's called Edel de Cleron, and I've read that it's just about as good, albeit pasteurized), but I've also read that a well-stocked cheesemonger in the US will have some raw Mont d'Or, though you will probably pay dearly for it.

In case I haven't gone on enough about this cheese, besides its deliciously nutty and woodsy flavor it is one of the softest cheeses I have encountered, running all over the plate when it's at room temperature. To wit: if you buy a whole wheel at the fromagerie, they give you a spoon. You can either eat it at room temp, or really live and HEAT IT UP. To do this, keep it in the spruce box it comes in, cut off the top rind, pop it in the oven, and when it's bubbling your name, dip your bread and meat and potatoes and fingers right in. And call on the bacterial gods to stave off the listeriosis, though with a mouthful of warm Mont d'Or, you'll no doubt be willing to make a deal with the devil.

China Clean-Up

2011-12-27T06:25:00.000-05:00

So I don't know if you heard, but I was a smidge under the weather in Shanghai. I'll spare you the details, but let's just say I have a newfound respect for congee. What had previously repulsed me (the bland flavor, the porridgey texture, the aged and pickled condiments), became my saving grace. (Except for the condiments, however. There was no way I was going to let a black egg or other mysteriously pickled thing drop a bomb in my digestive tract.)

I was sick enough to visit a doctor while I was there. After repeatedly hearing people say that they were going to the "hospital" or asking me if I needed to go to the "hospital" (which I would always respond to by changing "hospital" to "doctor" with a smugness I am not proud of), I finally made an appointment with an English-speaking doctor, only to find that I had to go to the HOSPITAL to see him. And here I thought they were just being overly dramatic with "hospital". You win that one, Shanghai vernacular!

My visit to the doctor... er, hospital was smooth, efficient, and quick. They even did a test and I got the results back from the lab in 10 minutes. And the pharmacy was on-site, so I got some meds and was right on my way. It did cost upwards of $250, however. But it was worth it. Plus, I should be able to expense it.

The flight home was pretty miserable. I was disheartened and crabby that my Christmas dinner of oysters and boudin blanc and mont d'or and caviar and foie gras and champagne was hanging in the balance. I was hungry (but not taking any chances to put anything besides water down my throat) and angry at everyone on the plane who was enjoying his free bubbly and what smelled like the most delicious meal ever. I wanted to smack the grab-hand of every Chinese guy I saw lift a roll off the rolly cart when the attendant wasn't looking. So I finally put on my sleep mask and tried to find some tummy rumbling peace.

I made it home, tired and hungry... but feeling optimistic. I took it slow for another day, but by Christmas Day, I was pretty much back on solid (and indulgent) food. But I'll save that for the next post.

Stepping off the elevator onto the floor of my company's sourcing office is stepping into a hot pink hell. I don't know why the lights burn pink, as it is not sexy or seductive or whatever else they might have been hoping for. It is merely disorienting.

I wish this car was a Rolls or something. Then this photo would be way more ballin'.

Pudong was absolutely DEAD when I arrived around 8 pm on Christmas-eve eve.

To kill time, I had to peruse all of the gift shops... just to look at things that would have made me wretchedly ill upon ingestion. Check out these prawn rolls I found; a "MANLY" China memory, indeed.

Meanwhile, back in Paris, someone called "GLADIATOR" moved into my building. I am half-afraid, half-comforted. Either way, I'm sure "TRUB" would be no match for his new neighbor, should it come to a stand-off in the air shaft or something.

The nugget was so happy to have me home. She has not left me alone since I arrived. Nothing like a tea and some kitty lovins to celebrate your return.

Shanghai Update

2011-12-19T07:24:00.000-05:00

I want to tell you all I had to go through to get these pictures posted, but I don't want to bore you with the details. So, celebrate! There are photos at the bottom for your viewing pleasure.

So far, this probably counts as my least-favorite trip to Shanghai. It is cold here. Like, eye-wateringly cold. It's been cold enough to kill the wanderlust that usually has me walking all over. And then, I'm only in the office this time. Usually, I go visit suppliers in and outside of Shanghai, so my days are varied. But this time I just cross the street (which I am amazed I have survived at doing thusfar... these drivers be cray-cray!) to our office, set up my laptop, and get to work. Ho-HUM.

But the worst of it is, I've been under the weather. We're talking in bed all day yesterday with fevery-freezing fun! (Open note to the housekeeping staff at the Pullman Hotel: If the DO NOT DISTURB button is lit, please mind it! After the first and second times of me getting out of bed to tell you that the room will not be cleaned today, please go away. And also, I heard you when you slipped the form under my door stating that the room could not be cleaned that day. Give it up already!) I am hoping it's just a 24-hour thing, because I have dinner plans tomorrow. Food bugs need to be gone!

What else this trip?

There is Christmas music everywhere. It's like the whole city is one big American mall with the holiday tunes. So it's sorta "homey" in a way.

The dogs are all dressed up like crazy! (And it's also popular to put color in your dog's hair, as well.) Even my favorite pink-eared poodle has been outfitted in a santa suit. (Gender roles be damned.) I passed up the photo opp of a lifetime this morning when three different dogs in three different outfits were standing around, having a sniff. I knew I wasn't feeling well when I couldn't even be bothered to get out my camera. One of the girls I work with told me that the dogs are all dressed up for the cold. This was after showing me a photo of her cutie-patootie dog in a polo shirt. I don't know how much a polo shirt will stave off the cold, but no one could argue that it's not adorable.

The food at this hotel is terrible. I mean, really bad. Even at the "fancy" "French" restaurant on the top floor (which is always suspiciously empty... now I know why), where the ingredients and the prices are more dear. Most of the room service or menu items (at the regular restaurant) are also either the breakfast buffet or the dinner buffet--or both.

My theory has always been to order something that doesn't appear on the buffet, so that I knew they had to make it special for my order. (My theory has also been that the sushi, noodles, and fried rice on the breakfast buffet are total has-beens. Yeah, I see you trying to get rid of your leftover sushi... gross.) But this theory was disproved the other night when I opted for the "sweet and sour chicken", which I hadn't noticed on any buffet... so it *must* be made fresh! Bad move. This chicken was smothered in the thickest, sweetest, pastiest, reddest s&s sauce I'd ever seen. Like if you left a bottle of s&s sauce to age for years in the back of a pantry, this might happen. Basically, my chicken was covered in ketchup. Sick. And... I was.

I guess that's it from me for now. I have been trying to watch the 5Monde channel at night, so that I am still getting some French in my ears. But really, I have been flying through books on my Kindle (OBSESSED) and watching more Parks and Recreation than you can imagine. (Boy, is that show funny!)

So I leave you with some photos, hard-earned up on the blog...

Hotel lobby.

My meal partner.

Yawrrr! It's Caribbean Pirate Pizza!

Chinese gluhwein? With these temperatures, sure I would!

This guy is threatening to replace the pink-earred poodle as my favorite Shanghai dog. I have seen him in two different outfits now (the one pictured is a teddy bear, the other one was a ladybug) and he sleeps up high on the stack of soda cartons. He pretty much rules the convenience store next to my office.

Back to China

2011-12-11T15:16:00.000-05:00

At least it's Shanghai, sure.

But still.

Tomorrow I leave for a last-minute trip to China. I am looking forward to my 11-hour economy flight with no lounge access or priority seating and flying with what remains of this dastardly cold. I am also looking forward to limited internet access, working with a certain difficult member of the team in our Shanghai office, lonely evenings in the hotel room (I will go to the gym, I will go to the gym...), and not being able to practice my French.

In fact, I am looking forward to none of that. China, I am not in the mood for you right now. Especially because I won't be back until Christmas eve, which means spending the holiday nice and jetlagged. At least Biro will be here, if there is no issue with his turboprop flight from Lithuania. (Seriously, how much money did he save taking a layover in Lithuania? I hope it's gone directly into my present fund.) There is talk of pizza on xmas day. I am into it.

The only good thing is that I will be in the office every day during this trip. Which means I will have plenty of opportunities to see my favorite pink-eared poodle in the newsstand in front of our building. If there is one good thing about China, it is her.

This Just Happened

2011-12-11T14:55:00.001-05:00

Look! I am doing things and blogging about them! In a timely fashion!

Fran was in town this weekend, and we went to all the haunts. It was great having a good friend in town to pal all around with. We shopped for jewelry and minimalist/age-appropriate dresses and xmas presents, and then went to Aesop and had the most glorious experience with tea and cookies and creams and elixirs. Fancy ladies, we were.

Last night, we had dinner at Le Dauphin, which is basically my favorite place here. It never fails to inspire and satisfy. When we walked up, Aizpitarte was outside having a smoke and a glass of red. That guy just exudes cool. And his food ain't bad, either! We were promptly seated (!, at 9 pm on a Saturday night??!) and enjoyed such yum-yums as sea urchin over cabbage, mixed mushrooms and polenta, shrimp risotto, tandoori octopus, some "special edition" anchovies, and the biggest oyster I have ever laid eyes on.

I remember one of the waitresses back at the Oyster House in Philly telling me that they grow 'em big in France. Like, knife-and-fork big. And that's just how we ate Oyster-the-Gigantor last night.

This is a pied de cheval (horse's hoof) oyster. It's a wild oyster and can grow to be up to 3 lbs! We paid 9 euros for this one, and I'll politely say that I liked it more than my dinner partner, though she looks so pretty with it. I took it straight up (well, in bites) and it was plenty briney with a distinct metallic finish. I could have eaten another. Me and bivalves, we're the best of friends.

Here's a random shot from the subway last night. I really like the lone yellow chair. And the mouth that wants to eat it.

The Maje windows on Rue du Saintonge currently feature the cutest pug balloons with crimped paper legs. I need some of these for my apartment, for my life.

Last Weekend in Brussels

2011-12-11T14:19:00.001-05:00

Last weekend was an extravaganza!

B was in town from Suede (I love that in French: Sweden = Suede). Friday night, we had a stellar dinner at Frenchie, wherein we opted for the 38 euro tasting with entree + plat + dessert, but did it with wine pairings... boo-ya! (But really, 38 euros for a 3-course fancytimes meal is pretty darn reasonable.) You may remember my experience at the Frenchie Bar a Vins earlier this year, but we were pleasantly surprised to be seemingly the only native English speakers at the restaurant proper. We booked our table way back in August (yes, for a December seating), and we were sure to book another table for February (during PV week) before we left.

Saturday, we Thalys-ed to Brussels for the main event of Jamie and Frida's leaving party. We walked around that afternoon in Brussels, and it felt strange to no longer have an apartment or a home base there. We realized that it would probably be our last time in Brussels for a long time, and it made us a little sentimental... and maybe even a little sad.

The leaving do was a full-on partytacular, with good eats and "sippin' tequila" and dancing and a lot of shenanigans (including swim caps, kilts, blonde wigs, and men wearing lipstick...) Brussels is going to miss Jamie and Frida, that's for sure. But London is lucky to get them.

Here are some scenes from our last 24 hours in BXL.

Creepy brides off Dansaert.

Foxy.

BOOM.

And don't you worry, we managed to hit up our old stompin' grounds, the winter market. It was nice to see that the booths were just about the same as last year, and our old favorites "Snails Guy" and "Gothy Arrow Enthusiast-slash-Raindeer Pelt Peddler" were there. But the tartiflette booth gets us every time. There are few ills that a steaming bowl of cheesy potato and ham goodness can't conquer.

This is the only picture I have from the party, and it's not even from the party, but from the morning after. Nothing like a cryptic yellow sticky note to prove that a good time was had.

Blogging

2011-12-05T15:41:00.000-05:00

Here I go again, forsaking my blog.

Sure, I've been busy.

I went to the States for Thanksgiving, came back to a shitshow at work, friends in town, another cold (seriously tonsils, you are about to GO!), and a boyfriend here for the weekend. (Oh, if you aren't up-to-date, my boyfriend took a job in Stockholm and has been there since October.)

But I guess really I've been feeling less-than-inspired.

Blogging regularly is hard work. Props to all those who do it on the daily (and especially to those who do it on top of a regular job or "real life"). It's similar to my theory on celebrity: virtually anyone could have a hot bod if it was all you had to do. If you were "famous" (you know, for being an heiress or making a sex video or whatever other behaviors we are rewarding with celebrity status these days) and your 9-to-5 was simply working out and eating healthy or having your meals delivered? Sure, you'd look... like a celebrity. When I was blogging full-time, it was easier in that it was all I did. I had enough time during the day to wait for the inspiration to hit, for the words to flow easily. But now, my blogging window is smaller--or less open, as it were. I'll find myself with a few free minutes, but even if I get as far as opening my laptop, I find inspiration isn't hitting me over the head.

I guess inspiration just hasn't been carrying his stick lately. Let's hope he brings it along soon.

A Weekend of Eating Simply

2011-11-21T18:14:00.000-05:00

And cheaply!

Crispy polenta with wild mushrooms, sweet potatoes, and shaved comté.

Arugula with crispy polenta and a poached egg.

Have I gone on about how good the eggs are here?

Over hard with a salad with spicy mustard dressing.

Thick n' fancy tubular pasta (which surely has a more authentic name) from the gourmet floor at Galeries Lafayette with pesto, parmesan, and a sunny side up-per on top.

Stuff on Walls #52

2011-11-21T16:44:00.001-05:00

What can I say? The evening light dimmed just so and the callbox had a perfect glow. I couldn't resist.

Love him or hate him (this string on the Odd Future forum sorta sums up what the kids are saying ... it's not artistically done, so is it "art" or just vandalism?), at least here he's got a nice looking script going. Though at first glance, I thought it was a hater biting him with "Kibutt"... but I guess it's just him all fancied up.

And here's more that popped up on some planters along my route to work. His stuff really is everywhere in Paris right now. If you must know, I'm sorta "meh" on it. It ain't great, but it's fun to spot.

Here's a quick vid of his fire extinguisher technique. Nothing new, but it sure packs a punch. As much as I wanted to post the video of him blasting Colette, I opted for him hitting up the agnes b. homme store, which is right around the corner from my apartment.

A li-bit? A rab-on? A bun-ion?

A moment before, there was an old man (complete with cane) standing just to the left of this scrawl. The shot could have been that much better.

Church Hopping

2011-11-21T15:28:00.001-05:00

You know I love an old European church as much as the next guy. So when the last bank holiday foiled me from getting some delicious mustard from Maille, I decided to pop into some of the nearby churches. (As well as treat myself to some macarons from Laduree.)

First, I hit up Notre Dame de L'Assomption, which is commonly called "The Polish Church." It sits right on Rue St-Honoré, though I didn't get a shot of its exterior. (Follow the link for that.) It is domed, and its stone has darkened according to its years. I went in expecting to photograph the interior, but it was all prayer business up in there! Even though my iphone is silent, I felt disrespectful getting it out at all. So sorry, no shots of the interior.

Next, I hit up the Church of La Madeleine, which sits between Place de la Concorde and Place de la Vendome. This is a church that commands respect, what with its pillars that don't quit, its surrounding square, and its eponymous metro stop.

I quite like this machine. It's Jesus-meets-Vegas for a brochure of the history and architecture of the church. At least I *think* that's what it is.

Sadly, the priest on duty was not that day. (I guess priests take bank holidays, too.) I like how his office looks all Barney Miller--check out the lettering and the interior blinds! I wonder if he's pulled any perps straight outta mass for a talking to in his office? I picture him as the enforcer of La Madeleine. Guess that's what Barney Miller blinds inspire in me.

Real Quick

2011-11-21T15:00:00.000-05:00

I started taking outfit photos again, and even though I'm using the big (read: fancy) camera, it's still hard to get a good shot when I'm just one lady with a tripod and a rush to get out the door in the morning. Bear with me as I work out the photo-taking, but for now here are some things I've worn recently:

Hard to make out the goodness in this one... velvet shirt with rounded collar from Cos, shorts with baby deer print that turns out looking quite geo at a distance, and look! Those Opening Ceremony shoes! After some hearty sessions with the shoe stretch, they are back! And I can wear them for hours on end now!

Blarg... it's hard to make things out, but this is a romper/jumper/pair of shortalls from Philip Lim with the loveliest leather buttons. Shirt is vintage and says something disparaging about co-workers (as illustrated with turkeys) in a manner that peaked in the early 80s. Boots are Frye and space dyed tights are ??

Check out my new leather and fur bracelet from HK! (Such veiny hands...)

Space dyed tights, headed out the door to work!

I can't seem to quit this sequined jacket lately. Nor the clicky frog necklace.

These boots were also given new life thanks to some free time and a bottle of shoe stretch. This is how I spent the first weekend since my boyfriend moved up north... walking around with chemically wet shoes and socks 2-deep.

This shirt is the best thing I have purchased in ages. It's a cotton/poly black/white birdseye sweatshirt, but the fabric is sturdy and it's cut big so that it's got a life of its own. I wore this 3 days in a row that weekend. No joke. Sweatshirt from Cos, tights from Cos, leather shorts from UO, boots from Opening Ceremony.

Boo on the dark photo, because this outfit is full of color! Thrifted gem sweater and black tap shorts from Cos combined with mustard tights... I was dancing out the door that morning!

I really have to work on the photos.... Blarg.

Pere Lachaise

2011-11-01T12:03:00.002-04:00

We went to Paris' most celebrated cemetery, Pere Lachaise, the other day, just before Halloween. The weather was perfect for a wander through such a beautiful and historic cemetery. I think that the cemetery of Laeken (in Brussels) actually has more sculpture and is probably more beautiful, but there is something very peaceful about Pere Lachaise, even if it is fairly bustling with locals and tourists alike. The other things that struck me about Pere Lachaise are the changes in elevation and, frankly, the overcrowding. It's pretty cool to see those old graves right on top of each other, jammed together and at odd angles... and then to look up and see rows of graves rising ahead of you. I tried to capture it in a couple of the photos below, but I'm not sure they'll do the trick.

Oh, and if you make it to the end of the photos, there are some celebrity headstones... and some crotch-rubbing--I swear!

OK, now on to the famous people. Pere Lachaise's most popular resident by far is Jim Morrison. We didn't even really have to look for his grave; we just followed the crowd. And there was a crowd. They were all gathered around, photographing, leaving bottles of beer and cigarettes. We wondered why they didn't just leave needles and pills there instead? It would be more authentic that way.

But really, all of the fanfare around Morrison's grave is a bummer for those other graves situated nearby. Talk about being trampled on! And we also saw that people had scratched "JIM ---->" on some of the graves to point the way to the lizard king. Totally disrespectful.

But there are plenty of other famous people besides Mr. Morrison in Pere Lachaise.

Sarah Bernhardt, for example.

And Oscar Wilde... though his tomb was under renovation, so it was under wraps. There were still flowers and notes left.

Oh, and here's Edith Piaf! In the family tomb!

Paul Eluard's on some uneven ground.

And here's Colette.

But really, this guy's got the best story. He was a young journalist who went by the name of "Victor Noir", and who ended up being shot dead by the great nephew of Napoleon Bonaparte under suspicious circumstances. There was a great public outrage at his unfortunate death, but it's become his gravesite that is now famous.

Here, read about it:

A life-sized bronze statue was sculpted by Jules Dalou to mark his grave, portrayed in a realistic style as though he had just fallen on the street, dropping his hat which is depicted beside him. The sculpture has a very noticeable protuberance in Noir's trousers. This has made it one of the most popular memorials for women to visit in the famous cemetery. Myth says that placing a flower in the upturned top hat after kissing the statue on the lips and rubbing its genital area will enhancefertility, bring a blissful sex life, or, in some versions, a husband within the year. As a result of the legend, those particular components of the oxidized bronze statue are rather well-worn.

Check out that rubbing, would you? Looks like someone's getting some action at Pere Lachaise.

Asia Again

2011-11-01T08:39:00.002-04:00

Some selections from my last trip to Shanghai and Hong Kong. It was a pretty good trip this time around. While in mainland China, I figured out how to crack into the juicy bits of the internet (wait, that sounds like something naughty... I'm talking Facebook here, people). I ate well, for the most part (see proof of exception with "bandage photo" below). I caught up with old friends. And a puppy wandered into one of my fabric meetings! That *has* to be some kind of good luck. At least in my book.

What? Will this product actually clean between my teeth?? And how is it a sandwich? It just looks like some sesame seed-covered goo. Which is probably a more accurate name for it.

Dinner with Ada!

Yumminess.... Spareribs, jellyfish, and fatty pork. I really fell in love with jellyfish this trip. Something about the texture. And the tangy dipping sauce!

Tofu with crab ovum. There was lots of ovum to be had this time around. I guess I wasn't complaining.

This is called something like "Duck 8 Ways"... yummy duck filled with sticky rice. I don't know what the other 7 ways were (to me, it was just duck + sticky rice), but it sure was good. Flora said that her grandma makes this dish. If I were Flora, I would ask grandma to teach me!

Artfully arranged Shanghainese fish. I tell you, I am getting more and more skeeved out at eating the fish in China, what with the polluted waters. And besides that, I am crap at picking out the rampant bones with chopsticks, so it's always a frustration.

"Utencials".... don't make it harder than it needs to be, people.

This was at the Papa John's Pizza at the Shanghai Expo. Our pizza meal deal came with chicken wings. (Which I guess is not that odd, except that in China everything fast food comes with chicken wings... or at least some sort of chicken nugget. For reals! EVERY McDonald's value meal came with fries AND McNuggets. I'm American and even I thought it was a lot of food.) The most troubling thing about my overseas Papa John's experience was that the garlic-butter sauce was fluorescent yellow. Like, black-light glowing. I always remembered it being sort of off-white in the States. More, you know, "natural." But this stuff looked like, well, liquified viral snot. But tasted like garlic butter. Ah, the wonders of food made in a lab.

This dirty street puppy wandered into a fabric meeting I was having. He is adorable from the front, but once we saw his dirty bottom he was shown the door.

Dirty bandage on the floor of the place I was taken for lunch one day. Look, I am not one of those travelers who can't hang with the non-western foods. If you have read a few of the "I Ate That" posts on this blog, you know that well. I am willing to try just about anything (excepting dog or cat, I draw the line there) as long as I can trust it was hygienically prepared. A dirty bandage on an already-dirty floor, rampant flies, and a waitress with white flakes literally falling out of her greasy hair and major burn scars running up and down her arms did not have me salivating for a delicious Chinese meal.

Thankfully my travel partner understood where I was coming from and ordered me a separate plate of fried rice, from which I took none of the meat. I hated letting the rest of the table think that I was the uppity American who'd rather be eating pizza, but not enough to actually share the communal bowls of questionable food with them.

There are so many amazing things about this can of coconut juice.

For example, "Do not add any essence"... I sure hope that they are trying to tell me that they actually did not add any "essence" because they'd better not be telling me how to enjoy MY coconut juice. I'll add a damn essence if I want to!

And then, what is a "State Banquet"? And how did this get to be its official beverage?? I picture a bunch of Chinese suits toasting with this stuff as they laugh about how they own the American economy. So long as they don't add any essence.

Napkin art.

And here it is! Perhaps one of the most unusual things I have eaten to date: boiled pawpaw with frog ovum. (See, I told you there would be more ovum!)

There was a good 10 minutes between the point that I started eating this and the point that someone finally got out their iPhone to translate what they had all be trying to tell me it was. They finally were able to tell me that it was frog ovum from a special kind of frog from a special part of China, and that it was good for "lady." But now that I'm home and did a little more research, I'm pretty such it was hasma (frog fallopian tubes) that I was eating. It had a slightly froggy or fishy flavor and a texture like tapioca. It was served in the warm paw paw, and came with coconut milk, simple syrup, and honey on the side. I must say, it was oddly delicious. Subtly sweet and if you didn't know what you were eating, I swear you wouldn't have noticed the froggy sub-taste.

Panda nail wants to eat this deliciously sweet and salty snack. Despite having my nails over-filed and getting frustrated that I couldn't just tell the poor girl to stop in a way other than pulling my hands away, I came away with two adorable and hand-painted panda nails.

I know that taxi drivers everywhere in the world are assigned a number. And it's no different in China, except that that guy in the toll booth or the lady working in customs at the airport, well, they also have numbers, which are prominently on display--more so than their names. This bothers me.

Hamburg!

Being as it was a somewhat sketch spot (at the airport), I opted for the fried rice instead.

Speaking of sketch, these late-night street noodles and meatballs had my stomach doing flips (and not in a happy way) in HK. Yeah sure, I knew better.

I love that the Doctor's Choice group has a special blend of herbs (and spices?) targeted for "Executives."

But then, I also like the one for "Hair." Is that for more hair? Better quality hair? Longer hair? Go on now, Doctor's Choice.

Hong Kong was decked out for Halloween. It was a nice switch from Paris (or Brussels) where they don't care at all about the holiday.

And I leave you with some pretty pictures...

Waiting on the bullet train.

A lovely mill garden.

More scenes from a mill. I love the roses.

The Hairy Crab Chronicles

2011-11-01T07:46:00.002-04:00

Have you met the hairy crab?

Here they are on parade!

It is quite fortuitous that hairy crab season always coincides with the Shanghai fabric fair. The first time I was there for the fair, I was traveling alone so I ended up eating with my blackberry in one hand and my hairy crab in the other so I could figure out how to maneuver the meat out of the little guy. (Or really, so I could figure out the parts NOT to eat.) Thankfully, I was facing the window because hairy crabs are not a tidy meal. There is dripping and sucking and slurping and crunching. Hey, you just paid about 50 euros for this baby, you don't want to miss a bit!

I was lucky enough to have hairy crab TWICE this time around. And to share them with friends (who actually took over some carapace removal for me). I think they did so because they were tired of waiting for me to finish my crab so that all of us could move onto the next course. I came away with a few cuts (the hairy crab is a tough beast), and the question "is all of this work really worth it?" popped into my head more than once... but still, if someone put a hairy crab in front of me right now, I would probably go for it.

I decided to read a little more about the hairy crab when I got back, and here are some interesting things I learned. He is also known as the Chinese Mitten Crab (so cute!) or the Big Sluice Crab (so not cute!). He is of a burrowing species that can easily tolerate and uptake heavy metals, such as cadmium and mercury, so they tolerate well (could we say thrive in, then?) the polluted waters that China has plenty of. This is super scary, considering they are prized as food. I guess I'd better make sure of my hairy crab's origins in the future. Yuck.

But the most interesting thing I learned was that they have been brought to North American and Europe and are considered an invasive species (those little bastards, burrowing all over with their mitten claws!):

The crabs can make significant inland migrations. It was reported in the London Evening Standard in 1995 that the residents of Greenwich saw Chinese mitten crabs coming out of the River Thames and moving towards the High Street, and other reports indicate that the crabs have been known to take up residence in swimming pools. In some places the crabs have been found hundreds of miles from the sea.

It's like a horror movie, no? Or maybe they just wanted to reclaim some of their crap Chinese-made clothes (moving toward High Street? See what I mean!)

At least, it reminds me of one of my favorite villains from Futurama:

Oh, Citizen Snips, I could never eat you.

Stuff on Walls #239

2011-10-30T13:34:00.000-04:00

China Blogging

2011-10-20T11:04:00.000-04:00

Check this! I am in China. And I am blogging about it! And not from a mobile device, either!

I am expecting a knock at the door any minute...

I will share with you some random thoughts I have had in the past few days. And maybe if I get the ol' iPhone attached in the next day or so, I will even have some photos to share. (Take that, China!) But until then:

Two separate people asked me if I was Russian yesterday, making me rethink my whole outfit and feel generally insulted.

I have led multiple conversations on the topic of how European people (and one particular person I work with) think it's OK to stereotype other cultures. I am a hypocrite. (See above.)

I skipped lunch yesterday and had the best Snickers bar and Oreo cookie I have ever had, even though I am pretty sure they were toxic.

One of the Jolie-Pitt kids is going to turn out bad. I see Maddox cracked out and talking to whoever's Larry King in 20 years, selling the secrets, selling the secrets. But maybe it will be Zahara?

There was a mill at the fabric show called Rabbitbaby. Do you think it was a reference to how quickly they can duplicate things-slash-multiply? Oh, I wanted to give them so much business then and there, but their fabrics were crap. Boo.

The McDonald's at the Shanghai Expo had a 6-pack of McNuggets with every order. You could not NOT get McNuggets. Not-NOT McNUGGETS!

Why does Budweiser still come with a pop-top? Hello, 1987.

I am starting to think that hairy crab, though a delicious delicacy ('tis the season!), might be more trouble to eat than it's worth. I seriously stymied a dinner the other night due to my hairy crab inefficiency. And I cut my fingers up a little bit, too.

I stayed up late last night to watch the World Sport (no ess, people) report to get the l-d on the World Series and it was the third story in, after two rounds of commericals. Just a reminder that the World Series is not actually a WORLD event and the Rugby World Cup is. But I will always care about the World Series more. (Go Cards!)

I finally got up the nerve to ask why so many Chinese men grow a pinkie-finger nail (or both) so long and was answered with an ear-picking gesture and accompanying sound. (!) Though there is some bs about growing it longer than the top joint in the ring finger for luck, it confirmed all my suspicions. Y-U-C-K.

Stuff on Walls #7

2011-10-16T04:22:00.000-04:00

A quickie before I peace-out to Asia-r.

Prend Bruxelles...

Dogs Recently

2011-10-09T13:53:00.000-04:00

Shhh....

Now you've done it!

This guy couldn't handle our presence and had to be put right inside. I felt kinda bad about the whole thing, especially since we scurried right off and he could have napped outside all afternoon.

But this guy was super-chill. Maybe because he was at a hookah spot?

Swedish Eating

2011-10-09T13:49:00.000-04:00

The Swedish Cultural Center here in Paris has the most charming café. It's all simple and yummy and beautiful and made right before your eyes. But really, the tablecloths are the best part.

Huitres et crepinette at Coinstot Vino.

Yum!

Stuff on Walls #104

2011-10-09T13:42:00.000-04:00

A banner week for stuff on walls... and the ground.

Outside an elementary school.

D.S.K.

Is that you, Sarko?

Momma or MTV raps?

Night prowlers.

This guy.

Cubby surprise.

I have been chasing this truck and trying to get the illustration. I finally found it parked unattended... yes!

Saint-Etienne-du-Mont

2011-10-02T08:17:00.000-04:00

Scenes from Saint-Etienne-du-Mont.

Altar to St. Genevieve.

Everyone's favorite guy from Padua.

The Weekly Haps

2011-10-02T08:01:00.001-04:00

Dangereuses...

The Meert sweet shop is just around the corner from my work.

This is Li'l Blackie. Well, that's what we call him anyway. He's my favorite neighborhood dog (and by "neighborhood dog", I mean that his dad's a bum.). Here he is waiting outside the Franprix for his dad to steal something or hustle somebody. I really love Li'l Blackie, but his dad not so much. Although I do acknowledge that he hasn't traded in Li'l B for another dog like lots of the other bums. These two, at least they're a team.

Prune de Nuit has the best bar snacks. Plus-sized gummies, peanuts, and corn nuts! And yes, that is a franken-body-of-gummy-with-head-of-corn-nut monster.

This is where the canal comes back above ground, just before opening up on the Seine. There's the Bastille statue in the background.

Check out the Keith Harring-inspired paint job on the boat in the middle.

Beautiful allée in the Jardin des Plantes. I am totally coming back to check out the menagerie!

Crazy kilted and satyr-legged piper along the Seine.

Our bread got its own chair because our table was too small.

Stuff on Walls #88

2011-10-02T07:44:00.001-04:00

It's Fashion Week, beeyotches.

I was tempted to ring and ask if I could come in and just play with the clothes.

What is this guy's deal?

I think scooter guy really makes this one.

Shell steeple.

Yeah, and he left his plastic water bottle.

Loving this ad campaign.

It's 2.80 euros for your tequila sunrise, and 35 euros for your voiding it on the wall. Just a friendly reminder that there are 400 free toilets around the city. You tell 'em, Paris!

Fun with M and J!

2011-10-02T07:24:00.000-04:00

I was lucky enough to have one of my very bestest friends and her husband in town for a whole week! A whole week! It was like they lived here! Which made it all the harder to let them go when the time came...

We ate well, drank well, laughed lots, caught up on the pop cultures, embraced our feline yens, made regular trips to Cos, and generally felt lucky to have the time together. Well, I sure did.

This sweet darling chaton is Rillette, the latest addition to La Patache. She loves lying on the woodpile at the back of the cozy bar, but she also loves cuddling and being passed around by the patrons. As if I didn't like La Patache already, what with their charming environs and their novel approach to bar food (read: cans of fancy fish, jars of gourmet meats), now there is a CAT on the premises. They will be getting plenty of my money in the months to come!

Neighborhood nutter (and John Malkavich look-a-like) behind the desk at Le Comptoir General. I saw him again last night, looking dashing in some plaid pants and a denim shirt-jacket not unlike one that B is fond of wearing. Yeah, he's cool.

Comptoir General-ing.

This is a very dark picture of some knife play at Le Fanfaron. It looks like something else entirely, but I assure you all of the action was around a very quick knife and a hand on a cutting board. Yes, there was blood.... but just a little and only from the crazy bartender/owner. Though I am willing to bet that based on usual antics, most nights he leaves that place bleeding... or at least bruised.

Horse Eaters

2011-10-02T07:06:00.000-04:00

Oh geez, I am late with the updates. Nevermind the timing, I assure you our last meal at Verre Vole (with Milosh and Jakob) was top-notch.

And, we tried the horse tartare.

H-O-R-S-E.

I'd heard it can be tougher than beef, so I was intrigued to try it raw. It was definitely gamier and more flavorful than a traditional beef tartare. (Or was it more flavorful because I'm used to the taste of a beef tartare? hmm...) It was very lean and almost sweet, as well.

We all enjoyed it, but poor Melora was visited by a freakish horse-like character in her dreams that night. Probably the second coming of our delicious Black Beauty.

Crispy fishies.

Pulpo with green papaya.

Halfway through some squid.

Deliciousness.

Zombies at Astier

2011-09-25T13:35:00.000-04:00

We really did make quite an attempt at dinner, despite a prolific jetlag that attempted to take down at least four of us. You know what, jetlag, we had reservations and limited time and a cheese plate calling so you'll have to do better next time!

It's all about sharing at Astier, where you can help yourself to as much herring as you'd like for your starter. M described it perfectly as the salad bar coming to you!

And the baba au rhum is bar none. This really doesn't capture the depth of the rum at the bottom of the bowl, so let me tell you that there was plenty. After a lengthy pour (I think we were sitting there with our mouths open when he finally stopped pouring), the waiter told us that if we wanted more rum just to ask for it! This is definitely a dessert to be shared.

Napa Napa Napa

2011-09-25T12:45:00.000-04:00

What a fine time we had in Napa, celebrating the wedding of B + L. California wine country is exquisite, and we were able to admire it properly at both the rehearsal dinner and the wedding.

The rehearsal dinner was exceptional, held at the bride's godfather's house, overlooking some of his 60 acres of vineyards. This is not his main house but the cottage, which was just perfect in its elegant rusticity (and came complete with kitty tenant). And the view! It was like a silent guest, the one you rushed to see first and couldn't stop talking about the rest of the night.

As if all that wasn't lovely enough, then the food came... a lobster boil!

It was a dream, bibbing up and eating the most indulgent of crustaceans in the glowing light of a fading Napa day. I kept asking myself, how lucky am I to be a part of this? Pretty lucky, indeed.

And then the wedding. It was a small ceremony, held right in the vineyards. (We snuck a grape or two during...) The groom was dashing, the bride was beautiful, and their orange and green colors were a perfect manifestation of their effervescent personalities. Again, I felt lucky to be there.

Look at those pretties!

Sacto

2011-09-25T11:41:00.000-04:00

We drove up to Sacramento to see B's family. Unfortunately his mom was out of town on business, but we got in plenty of family time nonetheless.

Delicious In-and-Out on the drive up.

Cuteness.

Wall art in downtown Sacramento.

How could we even have entertained the idea of getting a croissant? This one was deemed inferior and left behind. Shame on us.

B's mom's bunny! So cute!

Don't Call It "San Fran"

2011-09-25T11:33:00.000-04:00

What a time! First, a last-minute (for her) meet-up with Kim, who was on her last night before returning to Philly. Then brunchers and shopping with Stells. Dinner at Bar Agricole, where an errant dinner "guest" afforded us an extra dessert and where we all passed around Britta on the phone to congratulate her on her darling new Cassidy! Then there was dinner at Locanda (so so so GOOD) with Casey and the charming Risa. Then lunch and an afternoon stroll with Lynsey and babycakes Finn--what a doll! And coffee and shopping with Sachi (has it really been that long??). And finally, drinks to admire Justine's interior design skills and catch up with Monika, Lou, Tracy and Justin, and Nyja some more.

Though it's been years, I do miss SF bunches. It really is a singular place.

Kim and I, not in a sauna.

The best spot.

Oh, the glorious figs of northern California! Here with berries and fresh cheese at Bar Agricole.

(Stolen from Shelby!) The crew after eats at Bar Agricole.

We stayed at the Phoenix Hotel, which was a little divey, but had a built-in scene (and yummy food) at the bar.

The HOOD. Either I got soft or the Tenderloin got harder, because the level of crazy was pretty unhinged.

Bob's donuts... just as good as ever.

Lunch with Lynsey and Finn... look how cute he is!

Sachi pretending to be too cool for coffee.

Stuff on Walls #32

2011-09-25T10:52:00.000-04:00

Well, stuff "against" walls, anyway.

Stumbled upon these while lost in an entirely new part of Les Halles the other day. Somehow they made that awful, ridiculously large mall less infuriating.

Warthogs make being lost in a dead mall less vexing!

So Many Things

2011-09-25T10:28:00.000-04:00

Oh, goodness. The past 2 weeks have been a whirlwind. Sure, I had a vacation, but it was nuts... constantly going going going, running to meet people and maximize our week in California. And then--just in time for our flight home--I got a cold. (What is my deal with that??) We landed Monday morning back in Paris, and I had to drag my germy self to Texworld all day. Then there was a zoned-out dinner with some favorites and, well, the week was off and running.

Today there is absolutely nothing to do. The weather is wonderful (l'ete indien), we have cleaned the apartment, and later we are going to watch The Maltese Falcon and eat spirulina pasta. Not a bad way to unwind.

Anyway, let the posting begin!

Fashion Weak

2011-09-10T05:13:00.001-04:00

Here I am at CDG, getting ready to board my flight to SFO. (I have to stop in Chicago along the way.) I kept almost posting a snarky status update on FB about how annoying Paris becomes during fashion week, but I couldn't sum it up in one sentence without sounding like a jerk, so I will try here, with a little more space.

During fashion week, the city is different. The "hip" spots that you read about in the NYT or on the fashion/travel blogs are mobbed. It's so rote, so boring. Why don't these people evolve and find new places? If they are the Paris habitués they put on to be, why are they always at the same ol' boring La Perle or Le Progres??

(Disclaimer, I like both of these places, too... just not during fashion week.)

It makes my skin crawl just walking by these crowded terraces during FW, what with all of the peacocking and loud-talking and senses of entitlement. It makes me crabby that I have to wait for an hour to get a seat at Nanashi when all of these people have descended. And I won't even go near Bob's! I went there during FW last time and there was enough kissy-face-ing to almost make me lose my appetite.

I guess what gets me is the way these people (and maybe I am projecting here) go around like they "own the place." There's just so much... fronting.

I mean, I appreciate good people watching as much as the next guy--and some of these people do bring the good styles--but I'm more inspired by the outfits the older Parisian ladies pull together or by the kids who work at that crazy shop on Bretagne with the tv's and the rats, who are probably also pissed that their haunts are full-up right now.

I guess what I'm saying is that Paris is stylish enough without all of the fashion out-of-towners. Is this another post about authenticity? Perhaps.

Well anyway, I'm off to SF to sit this one out.

Au revoir, you snazzies.

Nanashi

2011-09-06T16:05:00.000-04:00

Words can't even...

one of my favorites here in Paris...

the ambiance, the fresh flavors, the bright colors, the desserts...

these are bentos like no other.

My heart leaps a little each morning when I turn onto Rue du Forez and smell the goodness that is and see the work that begets the Nanashi desserts.

The matcha cheesecake.... oh, the matcha cheesecake...

Mariage Freres

2011-09-06T14:39:00.000-04:00

What a fancy weekend we had! J was feeling for tea, so we popped into Mariage Freres in the Marais for a spot.

Oh, la la!

Between the waiters in bowties and white linen, the maddeningly large selection of teas, the plantation-style fans, the beautiful dessert tray, and the staircase leading nowhere, it was quite an experience.

You can check the menu, but unfortunately none of the teas are listed as it's only the food menu. Or maybe it's fortunate because there are lots. I mean, LOTS. Must have been close to 500 listed, I swear it!

Candelaria

2011-09-04T13:21:00.000-04:00

J + F were in town this weekend, so we went to all of the haunts.

Candelaria has been heaped with praise since word got out. And it's all justified.

(My props go to Ashley for discovering this place when it just opened. I'm sure I would have been a regular by now, but the thought of going without it in those months is just awful.)

As you can imagine, there is a dearth of Mexican food in Paris. Oh rather, a dearth of good Mexican food. We are lucky enough to have both El Nopal (good for burritos) and El Guacamole (good meats, but the tortillas are not house-made) in our neighborhood.

And Candelaria, well it's almost in our neighborhood. I'm not complaining about a 10-minute walk for tacos this good. And I'm definitely not complaining about the fact that it is both on my way home from work and a realistic (for timing and location) lunch spot. Yeah, maybe I'm actually sorta bragging about that.

Because once you try these tacos and tostadas, you will want to have them every day. And that is actually feasible for me.

*ppfffbttt!*

Canal Times with F + J

2011-09-04T13:04:00.000-04:00

Good people, good neighborhood.
And ducks!

Le Chateaubriand

2011-09-04T13:01:00.000-04:00

Dinner yum yums with J + F.

Bon sang!

Is that blood on the wine list?!

My photos of the food didn't turn out that great, so I am not posting them. It was my first time at Le Chateaubriand (though I have been to Le Dauphin enough times to be thoroughly enamored with it), and I was fairly certain I knew what to expect. I would be challenged, confronted, made to question. Yeah, I am still talking about food. People either love Le Chateaubriand and hail Inaki Aizpitarte as a crazy genius, or they think it's all just silly and cold. I also know people who have left hungry. After a tasting menu. Shame!

So what did I think? I guess I'm one of the weirdos who was sort of "meh" about it. The whole thing didn't elicit any extreme emotional response. The ingredients were fresh and at their peak and perfectly prepared. And there was some "wit" that I appreciated, like a watermelon salad with watermelon jellies in the same size/shape as the real bits of watermelon. But overall, I didn't find the menu inspired enough to have me either raving or hating. It was all just... alright.

Again, I clarify that the ingredients were perfect and delicious, but I expected more from the 9th best restaurant in the world. More molecular gastronomy and science, more odd flavor combinations that connected just right, more inspiration.

But that's the beauty of the 55 euro tasting. There's really no harm done to my pocketbook. I'm madder about the dimes I dropped on those sadistic OC shoes.

My further contributions to Aizpitarte's bank account will likely be from Le Dauphin side.

Les Animaux

2011-09-04T12:01:00.000-04:00

Loving her new rug.

This is FiFi. Her mom does our alterations.
She hangs out with Coco, Ponpon, and Mademoiselle Rose while this happens. The place is like a petting zoo. I've got to find more things to be altered so I can hang out with them again soon.

I may wear a bowtie and have a fancy haircut, but I totally beg when your food is delivered.
Cute but not classy.

Wherever is the cat?!

(Cochino is not the best at hiding.)

Begging at Mems.

This guy graciously let us share his booth.

Recent Eats (and an Owl)

2011-09-03T11:06:00.000-04:00

Chicken, fourme d'ambert, raisins, lettuce, and walnuts. From Legacy Choc in the Marais. Eating at my desk again...

Burrata treat.

A glorious mound of couscous.

Pony cakes.

Tripe sausage. The waiter told us it would taste like the farm. He was right.

My new owl lamp.

Fancy mac n' cheese: squid ink pasta with fresh peas, mushrooms, comte and emmental. Yums!

An Outfit Post!

2011-09-03T10:47:00.001-04:00

Hey, remember when I used to do these on the regular?

Really like these colors together. Shirt H&M, pants samples from UO, shoes Faryl Robin, bag agnes b.

Devil Shoes

2011-08-28T09:55:00.000-04:00

Four bandages in total and, yes, that is blood.

These shoes hurt so much, I see stars. I keep thinking they will be better next time... but next time will likely be on someone else's feet.

Stuff on Walls #43

2011-08-26T13:44:00.001-04:00

Care to elaborate?

Ou?

Grouchy.

I really want this horsey for my place.

Kill your stencil.

Maybe my favorite thing ever. Evidence of pigeon is apparent.

American Frenchie

2011-08-24T14:45:00.000-04:00

We went to Frenchie Bar a Vins* last night, and this entry is not going to be about the food.

You are right to wonder.

Well, I can’t not mention it, so I will tell you what we ate, just to get it out of the way. We had cured pork belly from a black pig (this was sliced thin and was like eating butter) served with rosemary-infused crispy flatbread. Then smoked trout with… honestly, I can’t remember all that was with it, but the presentation was beautiful and the levels of taste divine. (I should have just taken a picture, but I didn’t. More on that later.) Then we had burrata with peaches and balsalmic. Then we had tete de cochon, which was chunky and magical and covered in mustard seeds. Then we had napoleon cheese (sheep's milk) with truffle honey and shaved summer truffles.

Y-U-M.

Needless to say it was worth the 20-minute wait outside and another 20 minutes inside standing (but now with wine!) to experience these tastes.

But the clientele that had me conflicted.

How to say this without sounding like a hypocrite? Or maybe I just embrace the hypocrisy of it and say... that it was way too American for me.

Now here's the hypocrisy. I am American. And I love being American. My French is passable, at best, so sometimes it is a comfort to converse with a Parisian in my native tongue. But I was thoroughly irked by the fact that every table, every person in the place was speaking English natively. (Except for the waiter/bartender.)

I realize that Paris is a foodie destination, and that many foodies are from the United States. And that good restaurants attract foodies from all over the world. Frenchie is a destination restaurant, for sure. (According to TripAdvisor, it is ranked #1. Yikes.) But why does all of the English-speaking lessen my experience? Because I am in Paris, I suppose. And because I crave authenticity. And a room full of English-speakers in Paris does not an authentic environment make.

(Again, I must state that the food was amazing.)

But I am conflicted because this is my tongue and these are my people. I saw at least three groups that I knew were on holiday. And how lucky am I that I live in a city that people choose to visit? I knew that if we didn't get into the wine bar last night, we could come back next week... or the week after... or whenever we damn well pleased. But for one especially dolled-up group, I knew that last night was their only shot. (Did I let them have my place at the bar, though? No. First come, first served! But I would have felt bad if they had been turned away entirely.)

And, oh yeah, about the lack of photos. I didn't want to be another "tourist" snapping away over my plate. Usually, I photograph my food with no problem but the environment made me want to act as authentically Parisian as possible. Not that I was putting on, and not that I won't go back there. Because if you come visit, we should totally go. If only so I can photograph the delicious offerings next time.

* Frenchie is a hot resto in Paris that books out months in advance.

Picpus

2011-08-23T15:42:00.002-04:00

It’s a shame that such a meaningful place has a name that sounds like a cartoon character. (I have already started concepting the Picpus in my head. I picture him with long tusks like a walrus, a bowler hat, and a love of cream pies, if you must know.)

But back to Picpus, the cemetery.

This all started because we watched a documentary on the Marquis de Lafayette the other night. Most Americans are at least familiar with his name thanks to it being laid on countless roads, schools, and towns. (Fayetteville being my favorite. I love how they dropped the La- to make it more, uh, local.) I knew he was a great friend to our country and used to kick it with guys like George Washington (the only George Dubbs worth anything in my book), but beyond that…

Here's a quick summary of the Marquis de Lafayette’s life. He was a rich kid who was orphaned young and with a large inheritance (as a rich kids would be). He married Adrienne de Noailles, who was also richy rich, and decided to head over to the United States (while his wife was pregnant, no less) to help in the new country’s efforts against the British. This departure was mostly motivated by his wanting to stand for the ideals of the United States but also by his wanting to make a name for himself on the battlefield—any battlefield. (He was, like, 17 at the time.) But as he was accepted into the US army and moved up the ranks and became a trusted confident of (and like family to) General Washington, his want for fame fell to the wayside.

(Another interesting note was that he was one of the early proponents of abolishing slavery in the United States and in France. He proposed to start this on several model plantations in American, and even enacted this himself on his own farm in Guiana. How different could our history have been if the powers-that-be listened to Lafayette at the time? Think about that for a minute.)

At one point during the war, Lafayette came back to France to petition for more French help against the British. He was promised a fleet of ships, which appeared just in time as Lafayette had Cornwallis and the British troops pinned in the battle of Yorktown. So if I may break it down, the French came in to ensure our defeat of the British.

Do you hear me? THE FRENCH.

Funny, no one seemed to remember this during the “Freedom Fries” embarrassment/backlash of our recent history. And there are still many Americans who disrespect the French and possess a general misunderstanding of them. These are the same Americans who come over here for vacation but act disrespectfully when the culture is not the same as their own.

But I digress. Growing up American, I heard over and over how many times WE saved the French during WWII (and WWI for that matter). But, honestly, if the French hadn’t saved us during the Revolutionary War, we may not have been around for WWII. Am I being a bit dramatic? Yes, but it’s worth it.

Because when I saw that American flag flying above Lafayette’s grave, I felt a little choked up. This guy loved our country as much as his own. He loved it enough to risk his life when we were just a fledgling.

He is even buried with dirt from George Washington’s grave.* It’s not bad company to go into the ground with.

So here I give you some photos from the Picpus cemetery, which itself has a special story. But you’ve had enough words for now, so I’ll spill it with the photos.

More than 1300 victims of the "Terror" of the guillotine were laid here in mass graves. It was actually Lafayette's wife who was instrumental in founding the cemetery. The bodies of these 1300 victims were thrown here at night, so people had no idea where the bodies of their loved ones had gone until Adrienne de Noailles and her sisters wanted to find where their mother, grandmother, and sister were buried.

They realized that all of the victims had been buried in haste and given no religious ceremony. So they decided to create a place of meditation and prayer to honor their memory.

They brought in the Sisters of the Sacred Heart to look after the chapel and make sure the prayers were perpetual.

Each victim's name is inscribed in the chapel, along with their occupation. From 14 June to 27 July 1794, these 1306 people aged 14 to 90 years were executed. Most of the victims came from the people, but there were also nobles, soldiers, priests, and nuns.

The two mass grave sites are outside this gate and unmarked in the grass. This is the little cemetery for the families of the victims.

It is unremarkable, really, though there are some old gravestones. I guess I just mean it's not one of those gothically beautiful European cemeteries. But it is beautiful and peaceful (and has some killer ivy!) nonetheless.

And here he is, in his own little corner of the Picpus Cemetery.

Should you want to read more about Lafayette, here's some wiki for you.

* This is what the documentary tells me anyway. Because I also read that he's buried with dirt from Bunker Hill. So you can decide for yourself.

Stuff on Walls #67

2011-08-21T11:49:00.000-04:00

90 minutes de PURE PASSION

This thing rocks St Malo every Friday!

This guy's got it bad.

See, I told you.

Check out this 3-D picture of Dave Grohl arm wrestling that guy from The Prodigy!

Go, Grohl!

Fall Shoe Frenzy

2011-08-21T05:45:00.000-04:00

Feeling a splurge coming on...

The Miu Miu fall shoes enthrall me.

But maybe these Alexander Wang kicks are more... uh, practical?

And these metallic beauties are from YSL.

But really, if I had to pick just one pair for fall, it would probably be the bejeweled guy on the right (also from YSL). I think large multi-colored rhinestones are what have been missing in my life.

Begging Dogs: The Investigation Continues

2011-08-20T14:18:00.000-04:00

The investigation has begun. I mean, I knew I was onto something when I first wrote about the begging dogs. But now I know just how big this thing is.

And I want to blow it wide open.

My morning-evening walks to and from work are my prime surveillance opportunities. I watch and take mental notes, all the while being careful not to look for too long or make eye contact so as to be guilted into throwing some cash their way. (I have a strict no-handouts policy. Though I probably could start mustering some dog treats.)

I have tried to dig up more information on the interwebs, but all I could find were the following three "facts":

1. Bums with dogs get more coin.
2. Bums with dogs are not allowed in shelters (except for this temp winter shelter on the Seine).
3. About 600 people per year are hospitalized for injuries sustained from slipping on dog shit on the sidewalks. (This was reported by the NYT in 2001, apparently.)

This is investigative journalism at its finest, people.

Anyway, here's what I'm on to. The bums remain the same, but the dogs are changing. For example, this little lady is long gone, but her bum is still a Marais mainstay--now with a new dog. And I've noticed it with some of the other guys closer to Republique, too.

So what is happening to the dogs? They are not puppies, so surely there is no market for their sale. Besides, who would buy a raggedy middle-aged dog from some street hustler? I have a couple of theories, one of them easier on the emotions than the other.

Maybe there is a big meet-up spot (I imagine it something like a bum commune) where the bums congregate during the non-begging hours and, well, they just trade out the dogs. In that case, maybe my little girl is still around, but now she's with a guy that runs his game in another part of town. And the new dog that's suddenly appeared with my favorite (because he's the most stylish... boy, can he rock a paisley sweater) bum was formerly with another bum unbeknownst to me. This is the hypothesis that's easiest to swallow: the dogs are just moved around and I can't keep up with it.

The other thought that comes to my mind is that these dogs meet a cruel fate at the hands of the bums, so that a newer, cuter pup can be put in their place. *shudder*

In my internet "research" on street dogs in Paris, I also learned of another troubling phenomenon. Apparently, many Saudi families summer in Paris. While here, their kids beg for a summer pet and since there is no stigma surrounding dogs here, the parents relent. But then their stay in Paris is up, and they can't bring the dog back with them to Saudi, so the dogs are left to die/survive on the streets or simply put down. At least those post-Easter bunny rabbits are usually brought to shelters in the States. These poor dogs aren't so lucky.

But back to the bums and their dogs. I would like to think that they develop an affection for their doggie companions (though I did see one pup sent to howls when smacked with a frozen pizza by his arsehole bum-dad), but if that were true how could these guys just "off" their dogs?

So I have no real conclusions, and my lack of interaction/conversation with these bums will probably stymie my "investigation"... but I know that I'm on to something.

Stay tuned for more news as I dig it up.

Como Video

2011-08-16T18:00:00.002-04:00

Boat races.

Cloon-dog's house.

All you can see is green, but I swear it's in there!

Lago di Como

2011-08-16T17:43:00.001-04:00

It really doesn't get much better than Lake Como. Especially when you can spend a long weekend there with a group of friends and live like locals (because one of them is a local).

I felt like pinching myself on more than one occasion... though the nips of the mosquitos were a reminder that, yes, it was all real.

The view from the window of our b&b. The bell tower is just out of sight to the left, but I assure you that it was praising the lord at the unholiest of hours--before 9 am! (Doesn't Jeebus want to sleep in??) And with only 3 notes, its "songs" were redundant before they even began.
Ugh.

Our ship came in...

and it brought some great views...

and this guy to the right.

At least he wasn't in the "banana hammock" that was de rigueur for men of his age/build/nationality.

F and J, all covered up to protect against dive-bombing mosquitos.

Mosquitos drowned in olive oil. It was that bad.

Como-moon.

B making his now-famous salsa.

Did I mention that we ate like royalty? J's famous chicken wings, L's ribs marinated in honey from her dad's bees, delicious burgers and salads and a homemade green sauce that Alice Waters would have dreams about. Oh, and limoncello and grappa and prosecco and...

But eating well means putting a rumble in the tummy of the neighborhood scrap-cat, affectionately known as "Garfield." He really charmed me but I was instructed not to sneak him any foods, as he tends to potty in naughty places, like our friend's basement.

But look how cute he is!

Ribs, salad, salsa, Pimm's...

And Garfield gets closer and wills you to give him just a little something, anything really, please, please.
PLEASE??

Water history.

So here it is. George Clooney's (or just "George" as he was known all weekend) house. (I mean, really he lives on the same street as our friend. So we were definitely on a [one-sided] first-name basis.)

Though try as we might, there was no George (or Matt Damon or Leo) sighting.

We even looked from the boat (his is the dense green patch at the middle), but he's quite covered and clearly wants his privacy.

Pfthbtt!

I can tell you that George probably has some pretty funny footage of us nearly pushing his bell and haranguing him on the way home one night. Oh, George. Next time come over for a limoncello so we can make it up to you?

It seemed everyone had a dog to beware of. And most all of them had the same realistic sketch of a German shepherd on them. But this guy, now he's intimidating!

Pretty view in Bellagio, which was way too touristy for our tastes...

but did provide this awesome parking note.

Thanks for teaching me how to call someone a name in Italian, you bastard double-parker!

Really this note was much nastier than the prior one, as far as we were concerned. Thanks for the surprise 10 am checkout (and the lack of bottled water), Georgio!

Just to remember YOU to let us know you don't take credit cards, either!

Many thanks!

Cards at the old man coffee shop.

Sadly, I didn't see Max Spastics or his crew all weekend.

Razor light.
So arty.

Toe bling.
So Italian.

Bretagne Bites

2011-08-10T18:08:00.000-04:00

The other thing about Bretagne... is the food.

The region is known for its cider made from local apples.
Yums!

More cider.

And buckwheat crepes are another specialty. They are very simply done, without all of the creme sauces and butter that seemed to crap up crepes when I had them in the States. This is the real deal and it don't need no bells and whistles.

The region is also known for its seafood. There are lobster, langoustine, shrimp, oysters, and mussels to be had on every corner!
These are yummy grilled sardines.

They were no match for me n' B.

Kouign aman is another specialty from Bretagne. It is not so easy to come by in Paris, either. But if you find one, get it warm or heat it up and you will be in heaven. It tastes like a cinnamon roll crossed with a croissant.... oh heaven, it is amazing!

B displays a kouign aman.

We also tried this ker-y pom, which neither of us had seen before. It's sorta like a apple tart, but with a crisp cookie bottom.

Behold, the ker-y pom!

I have had langoustine the world over, but these langoustine... they tasted like lobster.

The sundae sampler at a local ice cream joint.

Petite dejeuner.

Amuse bouche.

Salmon yumminess.

Local oysters.

Crazy meringue + ice cream dessert = nap on the beach afterward.